I remember vividly the day I became addicted to music. I was on the cusp of adolescence and fed up with the gag-inducing pop songs that perpetually played on Radio Disney. I figured the time had come for me to grow up and experience the strange and expansive world known as rock music.

With an FM station guide in hand, I scoured the airwaves searching for a rock station that could introduce me to this brave new musical landscape. After having my eardrums liquefied by a few hard rock channels, I settled upon a station featuring “classic rock”—a label I didn’t understand until my dad started singing along to the radio. The songs ranged from mellow to upbeat, serious to tongue-in-cheek.

But then I heard the song that forever changed my music-listening life. It began with an energetic synthesizer humming a hypnotic pattern, followed by three repeating power chords. Soon, a cacophony of drums joined in, along with the domineering voice of the lead singer. During a melodic interlude, the vocalist shouted about living in a “teenage wasteland.” The song closed out with interplay between a folksy violin solo and the continued pulsing of the synthesizer. By this point, my mind was completely and utterly blown. There was so much subtlety and complexity in the music, yet the emotions it evoked were so simple. Several months passed before I learned the song’s actual name was “Baba O’Riley” by The Who (conveniently, the song is also the theme of CSI: New York).

After hearing such a heavenly tune, my obsession began to find even greater music. The familiar choruses and chord progressions didn’t appeal to me in the same way they had before. I needed a kind of music that was dynamic and alive.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long for me to stumble on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. This 45-minute long album contains psychedelic guitar solos, existential lyrics and a plethora of sound effects, from quiet thumping heartbeats to loud chiming of grandfather clocks.

Although many rock purists consider this album to be the greatest of all time, to me it represents an era long past when hippies would philosophize while consuming lots of hallucinogens.

My quest for musical perfection has since led me into the realm of the 21st. I’ve dabbled in various genres from alt-rock to hip hop to avant-garde, listening to artists ranging from Switchfoot to T-Pain to Sigur Rós. Every now and then, I come across an album that’s captivating from beginning to end. Currently, I’m addicted to Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends by Coldplay. The record opens with the peppy instrumental “Life in Technicolor” and continues to ebb and flow between somber reflections and triumphant anthems. What makes this album significant is that each song takes on a life of its own, allowing Viva la Vida to transcend the boundaries of genre. It’s a refreshing change from the majority of modern bands who confine themselves by performing only one kind of song.

As an addict of music, I’ve witnessed both the transformation of the contemporary music scene as well as my personal evolution along with it. There are certain albums and songs that remind me of specific points in my life, such as moments of carefree elation in addition to the periods of emotional angst. In a way, music has become the narrative with which I’ve tried to define myself. After years of searching for a kind of ideal music, I realize now that I’ll probably never encounter that “perfect” song, but I think the pursuit of it is much more important.